Tuesday, April 02, 2002

Conversations with God, part 4

I couldn't sleep.

I picked up my cell phone, all brand spanking new, thanks to Sprint, and I hit the voice control button. "God." I said. I put my ear up to the receiving end and heard a computerized, "Calling--" then my own voice saying "God." I rolled over from my stomach to my back. I stared at the ceiling while listening to the rings.

"Hello," a warm man's voice replied. "How are you, Voodoo?"

"How did you know that?" I asked. "You got caller ID powers?"

"No," he laughed, "I have caller ID on my cell though. What's up?"

"Why do people die?" Why dance around the question, I asked myself. It was the thing on my mind this last week, and I figured we might as well get into it.

"Why do people die?" he asked me. I could see him searching the clouds for an answer. He was in his backyard, I could hear the fountain and some birds. "That's a very good question. Why do you ask?"

"Cause you know, with everything that's going on around us, with my students," my voice trailed off. "You have the answers, I suppose." I closed my eyes and I could feel them burn. My eyes were tired. Earlier today I went to the funeral, and I could still hear things in my head, feel a deep sadness.

"The honest truth is people die because it is their time. There is no romanticism involved in death, simply there are accidents, there is old age, there are a multitude of things that bring people to the end of their lives, and when they die, they simply die. What isn't simple is the way in which death is interpreted by those who are left behind."

"What do you mean?"

"We find ourselves left behind. Our loved one has left us, and we are empty, rather there is a void that is left when that person leaves, and in our tears, we don't know how to fill that space. We find ourselves faced with the challenge of living our lives without that person, and it's not ever going to be the same. Or so we think."

"I guess I understand that, but what I'm asking you is why is it that people have to die? Why is it that young people, people who aren't supposed to die yet, die?" My words were terse. I started to feel myself get angry and tense. I had to take a deep breath to calm down a little.

"People die," He said calmly, "because it is their time. I don't expect you to understand that--"

"It's because I don't! I don't know how it could be their 'time' if they haven't even reached their full potential--"

"Wait, wait, who is it to say they have and they haven't? Who is it that dictates what is full and isn't?" He paused for a few seconds to let that sink in. "Is it yours? Is it the young person? Neither. Is it mine? No. It just is, and as hard as that is to accept, it is. I can't offer you any words to make you feel better, or happier, and I can't bring them back. I could easily do that for you, but what about the son that lost his father, shall I bring him back too? Shall I bring back the kitty that the little boy lost? I can't. I simply can't because there will be a time when it all comes together. And when we die, our physical bodies return with, as the scriptures say, the hope of rising again. There is a time. Don't lose sight of that."

"I don't want to hear that, because that's later in life when I'm dead myself. I'm going to hurt, this hurts, this is the part of me that I'd like to have taken away. This is--"

"This is the time for you to listen, not talk." His voice, though stern, was understanding. "I hear what you're saying, and I feel your pain. Death, you see, is a natural transition into the next phase of life. However untimely it is, it is still transition that occurs. The trees around us dont' live forever, and you don't think they are not mourned over? The animals die, and they too mourn. You, my dear, are mourning, and it too shall pass. The seasons change, and return, and you too shall return."

"I don't know if I can accept that."

"I don't expect you to." He was quiet again. I heard a bird in the background. A car zoomed through. Someone laughed. "It is the way you think about things that brings you to peace. It is the way that you know when to let go and to embrace that makes the difference. Yes, death is hard, death is untimely. Death, however is a part of life that we must all deal with, and even the Creator is not free from death."

"You can die?"

"Metaphysically, yes. When someone ceases to believe, I die. When someone turns away from me, I die. Does this not signify change, and that is where the pain is the worst? That we have to change the way we live, see the world, function and operate when there is a radical change? Yes, we die too. But change is natural. It will occur, and we will live on. Life won't be the same, but we will move on and we will grow, and we will die and be renewed."

"So I'll come back?"

"I can't promise you that you'll be back as you are now, but yes, you will return, because you are a part of the universe and the universe is ever recreating and changing. It is what we make of ourselves that defines how we live after the change."

"I don't quite understand it."

"Don't worry, it is something that I am barely able to grasp. The beauty of it all is this: that we are eternally being reborn, and our transitions are plainly painful to others, and sometimes to ourselves. Loss is never easy, and if it were easy, then we wouldn't be talking. Take that hurt and pain and turn it inside of itself. Turn it into love, and into caring, and into a celebration of a life. That is how we live forever, in the celebration of the moments, of each other and of life."

I supposed that it made sense at that point. "Hey I gotta go back to sleep. Tell her I said what's up."

"Of course I will. Good night. It was nice talking to you."

"Likewise. Thanks for the ear," I mumbled. It was really late.

"I liked it so much I gave you two." He laughed.

And for the first time in a while, I did too. And it felt fine.

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 10:30:00 PM